


Getting started

by RussianWitch



Series: We are not in Stockholm yet [3]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Christmas Tree, M/M, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the most unlikely non-relationships have a beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting started

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, if someone wants to do it give me a yell.

Scavenging is a useful skill to have, John mastered the skill young and has kept it up over the years having to pay his own way since he was 18 years old. Most of the furniture in his previous life had been scrounged together, his clothing picked up from the Salvation Army, his books from library sales.

Strangely he is better taken-care-off as a hostage than when he was a ward of the state or when he was taking care of himself.  
Batman might still be alive and if he is, Bane wants him to come around for a rematch; the bait is John kept mostly undamaged and in relative comfort as Bane's pet. He has the run of the compound, even if he could manage to get beyond the gates he's still stuck in a foreign country without a passport or money and on top of a frigging mountain as a bonus.  
After freezing half to death in an escape attempt a few weeks after being brought to the mountain John hasn't tried again. But he does wander around making a nuisance of himself and stealing bits and pieces. Because now that they are finally in one location, he has figured out the time of the year: he's been in captivity for more than 10 months and Christmas is coming.

John is going to have himself some semblance of Christmas even if he has to hurt someone to get it.  
He's already managed to save up candles and borrow glass jars and empty bottles and some wire.  
What he needs is something like a tree.

Wood is delivered from the valley but there are rarely green twigs present so he needs to think of something else. He ghosts around the open supply rooms and even tries to break into the weapons rooms he isn't supposed to know are there. Green electrical tape and green rubber tubing twisted around a wood and wire frame look sort of pathetic, but it's more than he's had some years. He hangs the pots and bottles on the 'branches' lighting the candles, the garlands made from picked up bullet casings gleam in the soft light.

John decides all in all the tree isn't half bad, he's even managed to liberate some alcohol from the kitchen fully planning to spend Christmas eve blind stinking drunk to celebrate the amount of fucked up his life has amassed.  
Dragging a couple of blanket off the bed he curls up next to his tree looking up at the ceiling and wonders if he'll ever see Gotham again.

As far as John is concerned Batman is dead; he's seen the weird contraption flying the bomb out of the city, had seen the blast and still sees it in his dreams on occasion. Bane will eventually get bored with waiting or give up for some other reason and then where will John be? He knows the location of the compound, he's seen some of their tactics; somehow John doubts that he will make it home alive very much. Chances are he'll end up dead; when Bane gets bored with him dumped off a cliff somewhere close in whatever condition he'll be in; dead or alive.  
John recognizes Bane by his footsteps before the door to the room opens. He can hear the heavy coat tossed onto a bench and boots getting kicked off. After months in close proximity, John can't bring himself to be afraid unless he's actively being threatened or knows he's done something that will provoke punishment. He closes his eyes imagining getting his hands on a candy cane or even a fruitcake. Mercenaries, it turns out, aren't big on sweets in day to day life so John hasn't even seen sugar in months.

"What is that?" John twitches, startled by Bane having soundlessly moved to tower over him without him noticing, opening his eyes to look up at an eyebrow raised quizzically above the mask.

"A Christmas tree. You know what Christmas is right?" He gets a grunt in response; Bane circles the mess examining the tree closely.

"It's a fire hazard." John thinks back to plastic Christmas-trees and tinsel at the orphanage and the station stuck willy-nilly next to radiators and close to overflowing ashtrays.

"No, it's not. I'm minding it." It's not like he has anything else to do anyway so he might as well stick close to it as long as the candles are burning.

"You have been stealing from the stores."

"And the firing range and the trash actually... Are you going to put me in a cage for it?" As far as John can discern he might actually lose one or both his hands for stealing. Somehow he doubts that it will happen, but getting locked in a cage in the courtyard is likely.

"You aren't a Christian. Why make such an effort for a feast day not your own?" Bane crouches down next to John poking a thick finger sharply into John's ribs studying the young man like a, particularly interesting bug. John realizes that even that doesn't exactly bother him any longer; Bane seems intent on analyzing every aspect of John's psyche.

"It's pretty, and I promised myself to have a damn tree every year when I grew up. Haven't missed a year since I got my own place."

"It gives you hope?" John can't suppress his laughter; it seems like he hasn't laughed in ages, he laughs until tears are streaming from his eyes and then laughs some more at the confusion on Bane's face.

"It reminds me that I survived another year." Because the only hope you have as a kid getting shuffled from foster home to foster home is that the next one won't have anyone wanting to diddle you and that they will remember to feed you at least once a day. His mood spoiled by being made to remember the bad old days John gets off the floor and tosses the blankets back onto the bed.

"I also stole booze, if you object, take it back now 'cause I plan on drinking all of it tomorrow." He pulls two bottles from under the bed putting them on the crate that functions as a bedside table.

"Why don't you have any furniture like a normal person anyway? It's not like there isn't any, I've seen furnished rooms in this joint." The table and chair are the only actual pieces that qualify furniture in the room; the rest is roughly made benches, surplus supply chests acting as cupboards, crates and the roughly hammered together pallet with its pile of blankets on it.

"These suffice, I do not require more. Should I lock you up again to keep you from stealing?" John is already going crazy wandering around the compound, getting locked in a practically bare room will probably be the last drop in regards to his sanity.

"You can just let me go, put me on a plane to the states... I'll be out of your...hair." John wrinkles his nose looking at Bane's bare cranium. Fortunately, the idiom is ignored as he has not seen evidence of Bane having a sense of humor yet. He hasn't been this bored since being a teenager at the orphanage. With the boredom, his attitude is degrading into that of his teenage self; mouthing off, kleptomaniac tendencies and all. John has never done well with boredom.

"And what would you do once you are back? Would the police welcome one of its heroes with open arms?" Good questions, questions John has been asking himself as well but he'll be damned if he admits that he's pretty sure he won't be working as a cop again. Remembering how disappointed he felt standing on the bridge his eyes still hurting from not turning away from the blast fast enough, he turns away so that Bane won't be able to read his face. He had put all of the disappointment and anger he felt that moment into tossing his badge...And before he had the chance to resign properly he'd been kidnapped so there might be a job waiting for him or a straight jacket and escort to the loony bin. After all; people who have been held hostage for such a long time always come back with issues, wrecks of their past self, post-traumatic stress disorders all around. He still remembers his classes about it at the academy and wonders if he shouldn't be a hell of a lot more traumatized than he actually is.

"Are you letting me keep the booze, or not?" He could grab the bottles and try to run for it but the results would be indeterminable. Bane might be amused or pissed off at the undermining of his authority.

"You can poison yourself if you wish if you answer my question."

"Don't you have a coup to plan somewhere or something?"Bane glances at a couple of files on his desk, John has been through the files already but his Chinese is nonexistent and he doesn't recognize any of the locations in the pictures, and then looks back to John.

Bane glances at a couple of files on his desk, John has been through the files already but his Chinese is nonexistent and he doesn't recognize any of the locations in the pictures, and then looks back to John. "I do not."

"I don't know, probably not without a lot of time spend making sure you haven't brainwashed me or something."

"You would make a good soldier detective. You have the fire and we can teach you the necessary skills." John can hear a smile behind the mask, the guesses that he's getting a compliment. Not one he wants to hear really, since being compared to a bunch of zealots is never a good thing. John doesn't care for the ideology but has jealously watched the soldiers training in the main hall and the smaller dojos. Even the men who have been training only a couple of months can probably wipe the floor with John despite all the skills all the police academy and the Gotham streets have taught him. But he isn't quite ready to sell his soul to be able to kick ass.

"Thanks, but no thanks." He doesn't want to have the discussion Bane is forcing on him. For something to do John moves the booze bottles under the tree creating a bigger fire hazard than it already is.

"Would you accept the training if the price wasn't joining the league?" There isn't much John can actually pay at the moment; all he had on him, which admittedly wasn't more than coffee money and the clothing on his back, has been taken away already. He has been getting outfitted and fed on the mercenary's dime without having to do anything in return since he's been captured. There is, of course, the option that's always at John's disposal; he can sell his ass for better skills... He's been lucky enough not to have to resort to that kind of payment even at the lowest points in his life. He isn't a virgin, it won't traumatize him any to get screwed as long as he isn't expected to act like he likes it... A part of John is actually surprised that this hasn't come up before since he has been sharing Bane's bed ever since they had gotten to the citadel.

"I do not require your body Mr. Blake, what I want is your honesty and effort." He should know better than to trust the word of a terrorist, there is bound to be a catch.

"Why?" He's always thought better on his feet while moving around and the offer certainly requires a lot of thought. He jumps up to stalk the room door to wall and back trying to understand Bane's game.

"Does it matter?" Bane is sprawled on the rickety desk chair watching John pace; he looks at ease despite allowing John out of line-of-sight on every round. Being out of Bane's gaze makes thinking easier, John studies the straps wrapped around the skull wondering not for the first time how the mask comes off. As silently as he can he takes a couple of steps closer to get a better look.

"You will not be able to remove the mask before I break your arms, as you are now." John stops sneaking just, he thinks, out of arm's reach.

"And what? If you train me I might be able to beat you? Why take the chance?" Bane might be crazier than John has suspected so far, he hesitates torn between the impulse to take a step closer to see what will happen, and backing away to safety.

"I wish to see how high you can rise." The chair creaks protesting Bane's balancing it on the back legs in order to extend his reach. John is jerked forwards ending up on his knees at Bane's side his arm twisted painfully high up his back. He struggles despite the pain and risk of a broken arm cursing under his breath, twisting his neck to look up.

"By playing fucked up games?"

"By teaching! You should have anticipated my actions and stepped away, now you pay the price for your mistake." His arm is forced higher again and John bites his lip so not to scream.

"Will you accept being trained?"

"Do I actually have a choice?" He is released unexpectedly but instead of face-planting onto the floor he is caught in a different hold and dragged into Bane's lap. Not a position he expected to ever find himself in, despite sharing a bed; John hasn't actually been in any bodily contact with Bane outside of being grabbed or pushed around, the first thing to hit John is the body heat Bane radiates; it feels like John just landed on a furnace. The second thing is that Bane smells good; male and sweaty since he has been supervising the recruits and has yet to wash. John twists around hoping his attempt to escape covers the freak-out he is having because his dick has realized that underneath the scary ass terrorist with possible weird facial scarring and a mask there is actually a man with a body that would have John throwing a look or two extra his way had John seen him at a club or on the street before he became a cop. He decides to blame his body's reaction on not even jerking off for more than a year. Bane's paw-like hand wraps around his jaw forcing John to look the bigger man in the eyes.

"You always have a choice detective." Another discussion John would prefer to avoid.

"So tell the truth and make an effort? That's the price?"

"The absolute truth; what you are thinking, what you are feeling, what you want and what you need at any moment I ask." John has rarely been completely honest with anyone since he was 11 and finally realized that most people don't want the actual truth when he learned to fake smiles and bury the anger. He's had years practice and isn't even sure he is capable of truth.

"I can try..."

"I will know if you lie. Trying is not sufficient." Not lying will be difficult but it might be worth the effort. Bane is going to get into his head one way or another, at least this way John is going to benefit.

"I think I'd prefer it you demanding sex. Can I still get drunk tomorrow?"

"If you chose, I have grown up in a place where bodies were traded for nourishment and protection and seen men take advantage. Sexual predators are weak; it is a weakness I do not share." John wonders if he's supposed to read between the lines of that statement.

He remembers Gordon talking about rumors associated with Bane's past; taking over a prison before becoming a warlord, presumably he had to have spent time in it first. Spending time in a prison in a third world country certainly speaks to John's imagination, not that he's going to ask questions, he is not that far gone.

Boxing up all the weirdness in the back of his head John turns back to the booze on the night stand. He grabs the blankets making a new nest under his tree and takes the first sip. The booze is disgusting but he takes another swallow determined to keep his tradition going. Bane stays in the chair watching him with amusement. John isn't good with alcohol really, not that he'd ever admit it, so two-thirds through the first bottle he's hiccuping and humming a popular song he heard on the radio before the occupation. The blankets are warm, the candle light pretty and Bane quiet enough to be ignored almost completely despite having a body John would like to lick.

  
The patterns on the blankets are interesting as well, they mesmerize him for a time, he traces them with a finger over and over again caught in a loop. When he looks up again Bane has acquired a book from somewhere; the cover lurid with weird tentacle things on one side and space men in big helmets with antenna on the other, the letters looking familiar but not making sense, John realizes that the book is in Russian; yet another language he can't decipher, he seems to be surrounded by them. Watching Bane read turns out to be more absorbing than watching the lights or the blanket patterns. John keeps watching him until the bottle is empty and he falls into a doze.

John doesn't get to wake up, not really, what he gets is tossed into a snowbank in the main courtyard. By the number of guards pointing their guns at him when he stops howling bloody murder, they have never heard a man scream like that before.  
His head is killing him from the alcohol working its way out of his system and his body isn't dealing with the cold having only the protection of cargo pants and a thin shirt, John thanks god mentally that he fell asleep with his boots on. Not that Bane is wearing much more but the cold doesn't seem to bother the evil man as it does John.

"You said I could drink! I assumed you wouldn't start training me today."

"Then this is your first lesson: do not assume. You asked if you were capable of getting drunk by today not if it was prudent to do so." This is where promising, to tell the truth, is going to bite John in the ass.

"You utter bastard!" He wraps his arms around himself trying to quit shivering. It doesn't look like he will be allowed to go back inside anytime soon.

"Likely, but irrelevant. You will show me what you have been taught so far." Suddenly John isn't sure that the snowbanks are such a bad thing after all.

If he's going to be tossed around he might as well land somewhere more or less soft. He tries the standard moves and is blocked effortlessly every time, sent spiraling away into the snow time and time again. Fighting dirty gets him some approving cheers from the peanut gallery of guards but not much else. Bane is as relentless in teaching as he is in his other activities, several hours after starting John is ready to play dead to get a break. He can see that Bane, who hasn't even started to sweat yet, knows it too so John grits his teeth and attempts the move he is being shown again.

With the new demands on his time the days sort of a blur for John. He gets better at anticipating his lessons and waking up before he gets tossed into a snow again, not that he can avoid Bane's version of an alarm completely. Half the time he gets fobbed off to Barsad or another of the more trusted lieutenants for condition training.

Then when John is half dead and wishing that someone would put him out of his misery Bane appears again to lecture and teach. Most days John ends up being carried to bed slung over Bane's shoulder like a sack of flour, and after grappling for hours in the snow that isn't such a bad thing. Bane is always nice and toasty, and half dead all John usually wants at the end of the day is to curl around the heat source until his whole body stops aching.

The first time he wakes up cuddled up to Bane, John has a minor freak-out.  
Because despite not having had any training in psychology he has heard of Stockholm Syndrome, even if he isn't sure how it's supposed to start. He doesn't feel any sympathy for Bane; it's hard to feel empathy with the person torturing you daily under the guise of training and doesn't particularly care for the rest of the citadel's occupants but John can't let the feeling that he isn't supposed to make deals with terrorists go.

He certainly isn't supposed to be wondering about getting screwed by Bane.  
The thought bothers him more and more, the more he tries to push it down. Sparring with Bane becomes harder if only because suddenly John has to divert part of his attention to holding the worry inside him and out of the way.  
Of course, he had been warned about lying, not that he is lying as far as John is concerned, and Bane doesn't allow him to get away with it for long.

For once the sparring session is conducted inside in the hellish heat of the main hall while navigating between braziers and ninjas focused on their own training. Frustrated and sore John is getting his ass handed to him when he finally snaps going for the one assault that might be effective to bring Bane down: John goes for the mask. He doesn't come close but the response is more violent than usual landing him on his back with Bane crouching over him. John's arms are wrenched over his head, legs spread wide enough to hurt by Bane's bulk; he is pinned to the floor like a bug.

"That was foolish, detective. I had thought you to be smarter than that by now." With his free hand, Bane checks the mask for damage, not that John hit it or anything but it seems like an unconscious gesture. Thick fingers dance delicately over the tubes and straps before full attention is turned to John.

"Didn't you tell me to go for the weak spot?" Despite being pretty sure he isn't going anywhere unless released there is too much adrenaline in his system for John to keep still. Not for the first time, he curses his 'delicate' build; both of his wrists are effortlessly held in one of Bane's hands leaving the other free to break John's neck or rip out his tongue or something else John will be regretting for a very long time. He tries to close his leg a little, maybe kick Bane in the ribs or get some leverage the prospect of losing limbs giving him extra juice, unfortunately all that he manages is to bring their bodies closer together making all of his mental twisting and obfuscation moot: John isn't the only one who likes their close proximity a little too much...or a lot depending on the way one looks at it.

"Your attempt at distraction is admirable but futile. Tell me the cause of this...rebellion." For an anarchist Bane says "rebellion" like it's a dirty word, his weight settles more fully onto John, who realizes that they can stay this way for quite some time, probably until Bane gets bored. Not that John has seen this happen in all the months he's been in the mercenaries' company; none of them get bored. He looks up at Bane who has been studying him again with faint amusement and wonders how the hell he can get himself out of this predicament. All around, them people are slowing down; even ninjas seem to like to rubberneck at a bit of drama now and then. John can feel his ears starting to burn, mutinously closes his eyes, bites his lip and allows his body to go limp figuring that maybe it will make taking broken bones easier, not that everything cooperates.  
More than a year's worth of dry-spell has really wrecked havoc on his system.  
Cooler air tingles against his ear, Bane's voice, when he whispers, is far more metallic than when he speaks, much too close and far too intimate.

"Come now, detective, playing dead is beneath you." The words are purred in his ear and John is done. He arches up into the body holding him down, his brain goes numb and all he can see behind his eyelids are stars, universes spiraling out of control and leaving him disoriented in darkness. Panting from the rush and embarrassment John finally opens his eyes looking only at Bane and carefully not at their surroundings.

"You just had a demonstration of what's been bothering me. Happy now?" To his shock, his arms are released but Bane still hovers over him while diverting his attention to the not-crowd milling around them. One glare is enough to send them all more or less scattering.

"So much effort to hide a biological response?" John wonders if maybe the mask is there because Bane is some kind of alien. Even for a guy who, as far as John can see, has never had a normal day in his life Bane's logic is far beyond John's understanding.

"It's not exactly normal to have the hots for your kidnapper is it?" He wonders if he'll ever stop blushing but somehow that seems unlikely.

"I doubt your body particularly cares." Neither does Bane's apparently but John ignores the fact that there is still a hard cock digging into his thigh. With everyone around them now going about their usual business Bane finally gets off him dragging John up to his feet along the way. The moment he is released he sways; his knees still sort of weak from all the tension of the last few weeks having been expelled together with the come messing up his pants.

"Find someone to assist you with your needs and do not let them get in the way of training again." He is prodded into the general direction of the stairs still refusing to look at the people around them and wondering what the last order means. Bane just made him come in the middle of a gym full of people with nothing but his voice and ordered him to find someone to screw. Somehow John imagined a different outcome if Bane ever decided to take an interest in John that way. Irrationally he feels sort of offended actually that he isn't allowed to reciprocate if only to try and get back at Bane a little for making him come in the middle of a frigging dojo with people watching.

John really should be letting this go, maybe doing what Bane has ordered him to do, but his sense of fair play and unhealthy curiosity are getting in the way. He gets herded into the shower with a warning that he only gets 10 minutes to clean up before his training resumes again. Except for the still very noticeable bulge in Bane's pants he doesn't look very affected but John suspects otherwise. He thinks back to the deal they made about his training; Bane claimed not to take what wasn't on offer. John venomously wonders how what just happened fits into the ideology but decides that asking will be one of those things which will not end well.

Kicking his pants into a corner and washing up as best he can without hopping in the shower he braves opening a cabinet hung above the tap and looking himself in the eyes. Not flinching is manageable, he's still the same guy he was this morning only more embarrassed and scarred for life. And he's making a choice.

Closing the cabinet he doesn't bother to get dressed just grits his teeth and steps out into the room. Bane is waiting for him at the desk reading one of his lurid Soviet era paperbacks. He frowns when noticing John's lack of dress, the hand holding the book tightening minutely.

"Were we not done with games for the day detective?"

"You just told me to find something to help me with my needs..." Playing coy doesn't work very well for John, he hasn't had to practice or use it all that much in life. Still, he tries stepping closer while sending a prayer to every god that protects idiot cops that he will survive this, whatever it is.

"Have you thought this through? Justified this to yourself?" John steps into arms-reach, then in the 'v' of Bane's legs feeling adrenaline starting to flow again.

"You just said it's a biological response, seems to me that doesn't need justifying."

"And so you offer yourself to me? Once I take something I do not let go."

John doesn't have a lot of issues from being orphaned at an early age, he really doesn't but like most, in the same situation, he has a thing for stability. The cop in the back of his mind is listing all of the domestic abuse cases he's seen since graduation while the 11-year-old permanently dumped in the system cheers the fact that someone would want him for keeps.  
John mentally tells both to shut up.

"It's not like I expect to be going anywhere any time soon."

"If you are sure, be my guest." The book is put away and Bane leans back in the chair, for a moment John doesn't know what to do. But really he does know; he wants to explore, to look and taste.  
Kneeling down he paws at the belts getting no assistance and wondering if this is Bane's way to leave him an opening to back out. His fingers tremble from a confusing mix of nerves and adrenaline by the time he lowers the zipper and is confronted with bare flesh. His mouth waters at the sight of it, his hands itch because it's been a hell of a long time since he's had his hands on a cock other than his own.

His fingers find the thick vein on the underside tracing it up and down, wrapping his fingers around the flesh getting to know what he's dealing with. He leans in close licking his lips and is rewarded by a change in breathing pattern if nothing else. John puts his lips on the crown mouthing at the flesh, following the path his fingers took up and down the cock. Bane isn't exactly small and as sure as John is in his skills he has to work up to swallowing him whole. Stroking the base he slowly slides further and further down moaning around the flesh caught up in the feel and smell.

Bane doesn't take his eyes off John who feels the gaze scalding his bare back. His own cock has taken an interest again only John can't spare a hand to jerk himself off. His hips thrust seeking friction in the empty air to distracted to take care of himself. Bane shifts pulling away slightly, and a whine starts in John's throat smothered by the flesh he's servicing and twisted into a pleased moan when with his next thrust his cock grinds against Bane's leg.

Humiliation flairs through John supernova bright but he's too caught up in the sensation running through his body to find it anything more than arousing. He knows that he'll more than make up for it later but as is he wraps an arm around Bane's waist in an attempt to shift the big man closer, this other hand ripples around the cock he takes as far as he can manage swallowing around the flesh as he humps against Bane's pants. His jaw starts to ache from the strain which is a good thing too since he won't be able to talk himself into more trouble than he's already in. He digs his nails into the rough skin on Bane's side humming in pleasure at the sound of breath catching behind the mask.

A hand wraps around John's head tangling in his hair, a heavy weight that sends shivers down his spine. John feels the cock in his mouth swelling further and almost voices a protest when he's pulled away from his prize. Come paints his lips and dribbles down his chest and John watches Bane momentarily come apart the body trembling minutely before settling again. John pants licking his lips and arching into the hand sliding out of his hair to grip his jaw, Bane's thumb traces John's lips massaging his come into the skin and slipping into his mouth.

The leg John has been thrusting against like a dog in heat shifts again, his own cock now demanding attention messily and overly tender from being rubbed against canvas pants. He starts humping again blushing at the thought of the picture he presents grinding himself against the rough material until it hurts. The slight pain sends him over the edge making a mess of Bane's pants and boot and leaving John a panting heap half draped over Bane's knee. The thumb disappears from his mouth with a final rub across his lips.

John is surprised that he doesn't get pushed away to sprawl on the cold floor, instead, he is hoisted up into Bane's arms as the big man gets up. Bane radiates warmth and all that John wants to do at the moment is cling to that heat and nap. Muzzily John notices that he's deposited in the shower to be shocked awake by cold water pouring over his head.

"The fuck!" Only when he's standing on his own two feet does Bane turn the hot water on.

"I will expect you in the courtyard in 15 minutes Mr. Blake."

"You have got to be kidding me!" John sputters trying to leave the shower, and argue properly.

"Hardly. The time starts now." Bane turns away leaving John sputtering and cursing as he scrubs his chest and starts to count the minutes he has been allowed. Normal people get more pliable after sex but it's just John's luck that he gets the one person who is crazy enough to keep going right after. He stumbles out of the shower and back into the room to find some of the spare clothing he's been collecting over the last few months.

Mentally keeping count as he finds his boots John wonders if Batman was ever faced with situations like this one. As he jogs down the stairs ignoring the sniggers and whispers of the men he passes John decides that in all likelihood he's special...mainly because he's pretty sure that Bruce Wayne wouldn't be crazy enough to sleep with an enemy.


End file.
